


Useful

by Adenil



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Another Sort of Arrangement, Cock Warming, Collars, Established Relationship, M/M, Oral Sex, Submissive Crowley, acts of service, this turned out softer than I was expecting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-25
Updated: 2019-07-25
Packaged: 2020-07-19 19:22:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19979224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adenil/pseuds/Adenil
Summary: Aziraphale makes Crowley feel very appreciated indeed.





	Useful

Like all the greats, Crowley’s work went unappreciated during his time. The problem was “his time” was _literally all of time_. To say he was a bit tired of going unappreciated would be an understatement.

At least Aziraphale always had an ear for his complaints, even if the angel lacked the ability to judge his demonic exploits.[1] All it took for the angel to lend a sympathetic ear was a bite to eat.

This morning it was brunch. Crowley ranted while the angel nibbled his way through a raspberry Danish, a waffle with strawberries and whipped cream, a morel and cheese quiche, a small pot of beans, two sausages, a glass of orange juice, a different glass of pomegranate juice, and a bit of toast spread thick with farm fresh butter. They were now firmly in the post-meal haze and Aziraphale was sipping his tea and nodding along as Crowley lamented that his superiors simply didn’t understand that “influencer culture” was going to be gangbusters for Down There.

Aziraphale dabbed at his mouth. “Really, dear, I don’t know why you mind so much. You know the value of your work.” He frowned very slightly as the meaning of his own words sank in, but he didn’t take them back.

“Of course I do. I’m better than any demon down there. My schemes have a level of finesse they could never even _dream_ of.” Crowley slouched low and hid his grimace behind the rim of his coffee mug. “It’s just nice to be appreciated is all.”

“By those…fiends?”

Crowley tipped his eyebrow up.

“Oh, you know very well what I mean.” There was a bit of strawberry and cream left on his waffle plate and he chased it with his fork. “I’ve heard the way you talk about them. You seem to be under the impression that your demon compatriots could hardly discern their assets from their elbows, as the saying goes.”

“That’s hardly the saying.”

“Why do you care about their opinion of you when you think so little of them?”

Crowley frowned. He sank lower in his chair and his legs kicked out under the table, one booted foot knocking rudely into Aziraphale’s calf. “Dunno,” he said finally. “Just—being evil’s a thing I’m good at. The one thing I’m good at, you know. That’s it. That’s what I do. It’s nice to be appreciated. To not be…useless.”

“My dear, you’re hardly useless.” Aziraphale reached out and patted the back of Crowley’s hand. “You’re a marvelous conversationalist if nothing else.”

Crowley grunted.

“...Well, most of the time.”

Aziraphale began to withdraw his hand but Crowley snatched at him, quick as a viper. In a flash Crowley had his soft hand wrapped tightly between long, bony fingers. Crowley tipped his hand over to expose his pinky ring, tapped it twice very quickly, and then looked aside in shame.

“Very well,” Aziraphale said, understanding instantly what was being asked of him. “Just let me finish my tea, dear, and we’ll be off.”

Crowley drew his arms around his body and waited. He was positively vibrating as he watched Aziraphale slowly sip his remaining tea. Finally, after what felt like days, Aziraphale set his cup back on its saucer and wiggled with delight.

“Ready, my dear?”

Crowley swiped his thumb through the remaining cream on Aziraphale’s plate and licked it away. He was already halfway across the room, his mouth bursting with sweetness,[2] before Aziraphale could even conjure the bills to pay the tab.

“Angel, I was born ready.”

They retired to Aziraphale’s book shop. It was hardly half past eleven and Crowley stood jittery and annoyed in the center of the room while Aziraphale got himself sorted.

“Terribly sorry,” Aziraphale said. “Wasn’t quite expecting to have you… _over_ …and so I didn’t clean as well as I might have otherwise.”

He moved some books around and Crowley got the impression that the space was now even more cluttered than before.

“…I could do it for you, angel. If you like.”

Aziraphale paused his self-conscious dithering and looked up at Crowley in frank surprise. “Oh, my dear. You are in a bad way, aren’t you?”

“Didn’t tap for nothing.”

“Yes. Shame on me for not being more attentive.” Aziraphale brought his hands together at his waist and twisted his ring. The two wings seemed to split and a hair-thin thread of metal twisted its way out under his touch. He drew it from the ring and flicked his hand, and with that the collar was formed. “Here we are, then.”

Crowley already felt the tension rushing from his body as he stepped towards Aziraphale. He bowed his head and felt the collar slip around his neck, settling into place like it was made to be there. Which it was. It was still warm from the angel’s body heat and although gold was really not his color, Crowley enjoyed the visible marker of Aziraphale against his skin. The collar clicked together in the back in such a way that only a minor miracle (demonic, angelic, or otherwise) could open it again.[3]

“There.” Aziraphale fussed at him. He smoothed down the lapel of Crowley’s jacket and untwisted his tie. “Don’t you look lovely?”

Crowley grimaced. “That’s doubtful.”

“Well, beauty is in the eye of the beholder. And I’m beholding quite a lot of you.” Aziraphale grinned cheekily at him. “Now, what shall I have you do? Oh, I’m certain I can put you to use somehow…”[4] He trailed off with that knowing sparkle still in his eye.

“Whatever you like, angel,” Crowley murmured. He liked the feeling of Aziraphale futzing with his clothes and so he leaned into the touch. “Want me to pick up your books?”

“Would you be a dear?”

It wasn’t really a question. Crowley pulled away reluctantly and began to move about the shop. He knew enough about Aziraphale’s (non-existent) filing system to be able to put things to rights. A few books had wandered away from their usual piles and he returned them. He handled each with care, imagining that he was handling his angel instead.

Aziraphale watched him for a moment before nodding and taking a seat at his desk. He soon had his accounts book out and was making notations in the margin.

Crowley would have liked to have been bossed around, but this quiet silence worked, too. Anyway, he know what Aziraphale wanted from him. He went to the gramophone and put on a record. A bit of warmth started in his belly at the sight of Aziraphale’s unconscious smile at his choice of music. He got a rag and dusted the shelves and polished the worn leather of Aziraphale’s books. A few books were in glass cases and he used lemon-scented water to shine them until they were gleaming. Soon the book shop was back to its usual closely-managed-chaos and he returned to Aziraphale’s side.

He knelt down and folded his hands on the edge of the desk, resting his chin on the backs of them so he could gaze up at Aziraphale pitifully. He wasn’t sure a demon could be cute, but Aziraphale often enough accused him of it that he thought he’d give it a try now.

Aziraphale merely tutted at him. “Yes?”

“Shop’s clean,” he said.

“Hm?” Aziraphale blinked and turned around. He examined the shop with a critical eye and then nodded. “Ah! Fine work, my dear. It looks wonderful!”

Crowley shifted, feeling warm and nice. The gramophone was still playing in the background, the record spinning around and around without needing to be changed or flipped over because that would have distracted from the moment.

Aziraphale turned to smile down at him. His fluffy hair caught the light behind him, and Crowley’s heart nearly broke at the beautiful sight. Aziraphale sighed indulgently and said, “I’m afraid I still have a bit of work to do.”

“S’fine,” Crowley muttered. He could have just stayed like this all afternoon, if he was honest.

“Hmm,” Aziraphale hummed. He propped his face in his hands and gazed at Crowley for a long moment. “I’ve had a thought, dear.”

“Yeah?”

“A way of making you useful to me.”

Crowley shivered at the veiled heat in Aziraphale’s words. “Anything, angel.”

“Well, you’ve been such a dear cleaning my shop that I really should reward you for your efforts. But these figures will take me at least another hour, perhaps two. And I’m afraid I can’t be brought away from them just yet.”

“’Course not.”

“I thought perhaps I could ask you to clean the bedroom upstairs, given your marvelous job down here. But then I got to thinking about how much I enjoy your company and how it simply wouldn’t do to send you away from me. I’d very much rather keep you as close as possible. Some place where I know just precisely where you are and can put that tempting mouth to good use.”

“Your idea, angel?” He tried not to sound impatient and missed by a mile.

“I thought, perhaps, that while I work you could keep my cock warm.”

Crowley shuddered. “Yeah,” he breathed. “I could do that.”

Aziraphale’s glowing smile shined down upon him. “There’s a dear.”

Crowley slithered underneath the desk and got himself situated. It was dimmer under there and he removed his sunglasses to better see what he was doing. Aziraphale’s thighs were primly pressed together, the sandstone cloth of his trousers tight over his curves. His stomach looked soft and delightful where it gently pushed at his waistcoat. Crowley couldn’t see any higher than that but he imagined Aziraphale now bent over his bookkeeping again, pen in hand and his mouth twisted into a frown as he concentrated on the figures.

It was warm under the desk, and nice. Its compactness felt safe, like a cocoon. Crowley appreciated the feeling for a moment and then he set to work pleasing his angel.

He slipped his hand between Aziraphale’s knees and guided them apart. Aziraphale easily spread his legs, twisting and adjusting in the chair until his bottom was on the edge and Crowley could situate himself between Aziraphale’s thighs. He breathed against the cloth and felt a bump there. His deft fingers easily dispatched with Aziraphale’s button fly and he pushed aside the fabric to free his cock.

It was soft, nestled in a silken forest of pale, clean hair. Crowley nuzzled it and then applied his lips. Above him Aziraphale sighed indulgently again. Crowley closed his mouth over Aziraphale’s cock and just held him there, held that piece of Aziraphale inside him.

He didn’t aim to get Aziraphale aroused. That wasn’t what had been asked of him. His body was merely a thing to bring Aziraphale comfort, to keep him warm and cozy as he worked. Crowley felt the way he supposed a favorite flannel blanket might feel, or a mug of warm hot chocolate. That is to say he felt very little at all. He merely existed.

This was what he had wanted. To be used and useful. He let himself slide into that lack-of-feeling place, that smooth gentle space where he didn’t have to think at all. Occasionally Aziraphale would mutter or shift and Crowley would respond, easily following after and keeping Aziraphale locked inside himself. Water pooled in his mouth and he swallowed lazily whenever it got to be too much. Gradually, his swallowing began to elicit little twitches of Aziraphale’s soft cock in his mouth, and he liked that. It was like a heartbeat but slower, more drawn out. A steady thrumming reminder of life.

Vaguely, faintly, he could hear Aziraphale’s pen scratching. The sounds of the gramophone filtered through his consciousness without his mind even processing the music. He would not have been able to name the tune. He pressed his nose against Aziraphale’s soft belly and felt the texture of his corduroy waistcoat. How much time passed he couldn’t begin to guess but eventually he felt a hand in his hair.

Crowley relaxed still further as Aziraphale began to pet him. Gentle fingers with round, smooth nails traced a path through his hair and down the nape of his neck. He had to swallow again, and this time the cock in his mouth gave a twitch that belied a certain grown interest.

The hand at the back of his neck urged him forward. He obeyed it, swallowing repeatedly now, drinking in the taste of Aziraphale slowly filling in his mouth. He wished he could look up to see Aziraphale’s face, to see how he was affecting him, but everything was dim and warm and quiet and soon the wish floated away because this was just as wonderful.

He suckled harder, letting his cheeks cave in and his lazy tongue trace patterns along the base of Aziraphale’s cock. Aziraphale was murmuring now, his voice muffled through the wood of the desk and the haze of Crowley’s mind. The sounds hardly registered as words. Yet still they were there.

“So good, my dear. Such a lovely gift you are giving me. I appreciate it so, so much. I appreciate _you_ , my dear, my darling boy. That you should be so kind and giving to me. Letting me make use of that pretty, devilish mouth of yours. Oh, my dear, _thank_ you.”

The praise fell upon fuzzy, blissed-out ears, and Crowley had no energy to protest it. His entire being was focused on the point where Aziraphale’s long, thick cock brushed at the back of his throat, tickling out a request he was all too happy to oblige. He let his head fall back and opened himself to Aziraphale, let himself be whatever Aziraphale needed him to be.

“Oh, how wonderful.” Aziraphale’s hips were moving now, ever-so-slightly, just little shuddering tremors. The movement could hardly be called a thrust and yet still Crowley found himself taking more and more of Aziraphale into his body, his mouth, his throat. “How wonderful and glorious you are, dear Crowley. My Crowley.”

There was a moan. It came from Crowley’s body and rippled through him. A hunger was building in him and he clutched at Aziraphale’s meaty thighs with newfound desperation.

Aziraphale laughed a twinkling laugh, the sound of a wind chime in a summer breeze. His hand tightened in Crowley’s hair and held him still as he took Crowley’s mouth with slow, languid thrusts. “Greedy, my dear. So greedy. Yet so sweet, and lovely, and kind.”

Another moan, of protest or acquiescence neither demon nor angel was quite sure.

“How could I do anything but give you what you want? What you _need_ , my dear?”

The thrusts came a bit faster now and Crowley was choking at the apex of each push. His human body gasped for air and he fought against the urge, wanting to take more of his angel inside him, to please his dear Aziraphale no matter the cost. His mouth ran rivers and mussed the fly of Aziraphale’s trousers with each slick push and he was moaning with wanton abandon, a sound so high and keen he would have been embarrassed by it at any other time.

“Good, so good my dear. Nearly there. Just a bit—a bit more. Oh, that mouth of yours, oh how you tempt me.”

The desk wobbled now with each of Aziraphale’s thrusts. He was half out of the chair and Crowley lifted with him, letting Aziraphale pound desperately into his mouth. Each thrust brought Aziraphale’s soft belly in contact with the desk, a steady thudding beat. The hand in Crowley’s hair drew tight, pulling painfully hard, and Aziraphale’s movements began to stutter.

“Ah! Just there, my dear. Just _there_.”

Hot, sticky fluid flooded Crowley’s mouth. He drank it in, swallowing as Aziraphale’s warm cock pulsed against his throat. He wanted all of it inside him, every last drop, but there was a bit too much. It dribbled down his chin as he gasped and suckled at Aziraphale’s sweet offering.

With a tremendous sigh Aziraphale collapsed back into the chair. He still had a hand in Crowley’s hair, but now the touch was gentle as he softened. Crowley let Aziraphale’s cock fall from his lips and he rested his face at the apex of Aziraphale’s thighs.

There was a screech as the chair scooched back. Crowley crawled out from under the desk and gazed up at his angel.

“Wonderful, my dear. Simply wonderful.” Aziraphale had a pleasant, sated smile on his lips, and there was a faint glow about him that hadn’t been there earlier.

Crowley felt a rush of something terrifying nearly overtake him, and he pushed it away with force. He let his tongue poke out to lick his lips and Aziraphale shivered with elation at the sight.

Aziraphale hooked a finger under his collar and pulled him up. He went awkwardly, a tangle of limbs still only loosely connected to his brain. He found himself in Aziraphale’s lap with the hard edge of the desk digging into his back and Aziraphale’s gentle lips kissing at his.

He let himself open for Aziraphale again.[5] Aziraphale kissed away the salt and bitter taste and then slowly traced the inside of his mouth with his tongue. It would have been heavenly, if heaven hadn’t been so awful. Crowley let the moment wash over him as Aziraphale communicated his appreciation through soft brushes of skin. They kissed until the feeling came back to Crowley’s fingertips and he could move enough to wrap his arms around Aziraphale’s shoulders.

Aziraphale pulled back and rested his forehead against Crowley’s. They were very close, and Crowley could see the grey swirls in Aziraphale’s blue, blue eyes.

“You know you’re everything to me, don’t you my dear?”

It was all a bit too much. Crowley pulled back. He cast his gaze downward and dug deep, remembering how to speak again. “…Desk could use some dusting. Underneath.”

Aziraphale laughed. He kissed Crowley’s cheek and then patted his bottom until he was standing again on still-shaking legs. “Well, you’d best get to work, then.”

“The figures?” Crowley asked.

“Only a few more to go.” Aziraphale gave him a mischievous wink. “And then I think it’s quite time for us to clean the upstairs. Don’t you agree?”

Crowley grinned. “Yeah,” he said. “I do.”

[1] For a certain quantity of “judge.” Aziraphale was always _judging_ , of course, in that angelic way of his. But if he wasn’t going to judge Crowley to be awesome then it simply didn’t matter.

[2] And soon to be bursting with something else.

[3] Crowley had only ever taken the collar off by himself three times since their tapping arrangement had begun. Once, because he’d remembered (the way a human remembers leaving their stove on) that he had left a rather impressionable young noble in the lurch during a temptation. The second time because Hastur had called him in the middle and really his entire mood had been put out after that. The third time had been when Aziraphale said five words that seemed to pierce the dark emptiness where Crowley’s soul had once been with fire and holy light: _I love you like this_. The words had been a bit too near something else Crowley longed and dreaded to hear, and so he’d cut their session short and gone home to panic and stare morosely at his ceiling.

[4] For his part, Aziraphale had only said no to Crowley’s tapping requests twice, and both times were because he was expecting a visit from Gabriel.

[5] Indeed, at that moment he wondered why he had ever attempted to close himself away from his angel.


End file.
